


Friend-Leader Duties

by Talliara



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talliara/pseuds/Talliara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just one of the many stupid, naive, crazy ways you are personally repaying John for his sacrifice. Going through with his improbable plan. Trusting Vriska. Keeping an eye on his bastard of a best friend. Karkat-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend-Leader Duties

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by urbanAnchorite's _lock it up and leave_ , I got to thinking about the reverse of such a scenario: How would the trolls cope with the last living human in their midst? So I took the one kid I figured would handle it the worst and threw in the one troll most likely to make things worse and combined them for GRATUITOUS ANGST. As a warning, this is a Karkat-centric fic, due to my rampant insecurities when it comes to writing Dave. I love Dave, I really do- but I don't feel as though I could ever do a Dave-centric last-kid-standing fic the justice it deserves. Enjoy this angst-without-plot until I muster the perseverance to make something with more substance.

You don't know why you're doing this.

Except you do, but you're not quite ready to admit to yourself that your absolute, unadulterated platonic loathing for Dave Strider has evolved into something suspiciously akin to platonic pity. You want to keep your righteous fury burning, but it's difficult when he hasn't done anything to earn it lately. In fact, he hasn't done much of anything at all lately, holed up in that sorry excuse for a respiteblock that Terezi cordoned off for him in her section of the lab.

Predictably, with the exception of Terezi, no one else really seems to give a fuck, including Strider himself. If it hadn't been Terezi you know you'd have felt the same. As it is, your own matesprit is too preoccupied with the stupid human to give you the time of day, and maybe it's starting to hurt, seeing the way she tries not to crumble under the weight of her own helplessness. You aren't used to seeing that sort of vulnerability on her. It makes you want to hate him even more.

But, as we've all ready established, you can't do that. That was all the emotion you'd ever cared to express towards Strider, and now you just can't. It was easy when he was smug and infuriating and a universe away, when Terezi lapped up his every disgusting, candy-red reply like water in a desert. It was easier when you could still pretend he was the moron you claimed him to be, just an insufferable alien prick with no understanding of the magnitude of the consequences of his actions.

And then, the shit hit the whirling device in one final farewell 'fuck you' on the part of sgrub. You'd seen the signs, and you'd ignored them. Two minutes out of your time to check up on the Bard of Rage, to make sure that little display in front of the Black King hadn't meant he'd gone shithive maggots- which, coincidentally, he had- and you could have avoided this whole disaster. It had been completely preventable. It was your fault.

But you weren't about to explain that to the insufferable, semi-conscious alien kid spilling his mutant blood all over your distraught matesprit, battered like a flimsy paper-constructed confectionary containment vessel after being assaulted by wrigglers. The way he looked at you, though, you thought he knew. Or maybe he just wanted someone to blame. Like you had, before you'd settled on yourself.

John isn't here anymore, or you'd ask him just what the fuck you should do in this situation. You doubt he'd have had anything not completely idiotic to say. But if John was still here, this wouldn't be an issue, or at least less of one. Jade probably wouldn't have been able to offer you any decent advice either. You think Rose might have, but you never got to know her as well as you should have, and now you never will. You don't know shit about alien psychology and you no longer have the resources to learn, so you seek advice from the next best thing.

Sollux is your best friend, for lack of any term more suited to explain the admittedly questionable (but assuredly platonic) bond you share. He's not in the habit of telling you what you want to hear, but the two of you do tend to agree on a lot of things, and an unfavorable opinion of Dave Strider is one of them.

"Tho leave him alone." He shrugs apathetically, "Clearly, that'th what he wanth. Lotht cauthe. Maybe you thould convince Tz to give it up all ready."

"Like I haven't tried that," You grumble, and you've got the marks to prove it. Sollux regards you over the top of his stupid-looking bifurcated shades and frowns.

"Then maybe you thould thuggetht the find a way to put him out of hith mithery." He says.

Sollux gives terrible advice.

You hold off on going to Kanaya for as long as possible, because you know it will only hurt her to talk about the humans. She greets you with a smile that's worn around the edges, and eyes that are dimmer than usual, because she knows why you're here. She spends a lot of time with Vriska, now; they sit together for hours at a time, talking, or not talking, offering silent comfort to one another.

"I can't say with certainty that any advice I offer you will be useful," Kanaya begins cautiously. "I can only offer you an educated guess as to what your next course of action should be, based upon inferences I have made through my conversations with Rose. But," And her voice softens reverently, "I can say for certain that I do not believe Rose, or John or Jade, would have given up on him."

Kanaya is right. That information isn't useful at all. And unless you're going to ask Vriska, you're out of reliable confidants to divulge your problems to. The decision, you realize, will have to be yours. You decide to do the only thing you can think of, which is most likely not the Right Thing To Do, but you can't take much more of this. It has to end.

Sollux hacks the transportalizer for you with a sage reminder to 'not make thingth worthe'. You find Dave in the furthest recesses of the veil, stationed by Terezi's smelloscope. You know he must have heard you coming, because he pointedly ignores you, and if you didn't know better you'd have figured he wasn't any worse off than usual. The bandages peeking out from beneath his t-shirt tell you a different story.

"So," You begin obnoxiously, with the sole intent of kicking his ass into gear, "Any chance you're going to end the self-pity party any time soon? Because if you don't cut the shit and stop moping around like a goddamn wriggler, I'm going to eject your ass right off this asteroid before you can use up any more of our precious resources."

You wait for the witty retort that never comes. The silence unnerves you, just a little. Strider doesn't so much as budge an inch- not that he could, with his legs dangling off the edge of the platform, over the abyss. He continues to ignore you, which you are almost a little glad for. The resultant anger adds strength to your waning conviction to follow through with your confrontation.

Your hands tighten into fists and you're just itching to show that smug motherfucker who's in charge around this godforsaken void, but something tells you punching the injured kid isn't going to help your cause any. "Listen, Strider," You growl, "I am the _one_ and only leader of this fucking joint now, whether you like it or not, and no member of my team is going to sit around like a useless piece of shit all day while the rest of us are hard at work orchestrating the means of our collective survival."

You almost expect him to keep ignoring you, but now he sits up a little straighter. He still isn't looking at you when he replies, voice low and raspy from disuse, "And you've done such a bang up job of that in the past, huh, Vantas?"

It isn't quite venom, but it isn't quite his usual ice. It's the words that get you, anyhow; it's not like Strider to play the blame game, but if he was looking to strike a chord in you, he did. Any of the pre-formulated comebacks you'd been considering to counter his typical witticisms die on your lips, immediately forgotten.

"You've got this shit on lock. Always have all the plans, the uncontested authority over all final decisions. Honestly, I'm amazed there were any of you left by the time we got here. I've seen monkeys with better problem solving ability."

Now, he turns to look at you, and you're nearly startled to find his shades are nowhere in sight. You're looking back into a pair of eyes the color of your own blood, and reflected within them, a wrath so intense it's staggering. You stare, transfixed, thinking hollowly that it's probably the first display of emotion you've ever seen in him.

"God forbid you give a shit about the well-being of your friends. You got enough of them to hold off the psychopathic clown before he finds you. Half your team's smeared across the walls and you're cowering in a corner somewhere, waiting for someone else to do the dirty work. You're no fucking leader. You're a pathetic asshole with an inferiority complex and an inflated sense of self-importance."

Your throat has gone tight. You can't speak. For a brief moment, you are overcome with the most nauseating sensation you've ever felt, like that little sinking feeling you get in your stomach when you learn something unpleasant, but multiplied tenfold. You wonder if it's anything like being disemboweled.

If you so much as open your mouth, it's all going to come out in a torrent of hysterical anguish and self-loathing, which is only going to confirm Strider's accusations. He could have hit you and it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much. The effect is no less winding. You're not breathing, you realize dully.

"Jade," Dave continues, knuckles whitening where he grips the edge of the platform, "Kept us from being at each other's throats. She kept us from keeling over like canaries in a coal mine and resigning ourselves to our shitty demise at the hands of a fucking maniacal dog furry. And Rose never stopped looking for a way out. She was willing to sacrifice herself to make it happen. She kept us all on track, never letting any of us get too absorbed in petty preteen bullshit drama."

"John," His voice dips and goes rough; he corrects it automatically, "John was a leader. Not a perfect leader, but he only ever did anything out of the best of intentions. He was the one who made coming together possible. He was the one who figured out how we'd bust Jack. More importantly, he never once considered any of us to be his _pawns_." He lets that sink in for a moment before continuing.

"Without him," he shrugs, "We're fucked."

You must have moved while he was speaking. You don't have any recollection of doing so, but one moment you're standing there, taking a verbal beating, and the next you've got one hand twisted in the front of his shirt while the other slams into his stomach, bristling with the most indignant rage you've ever felt in your life. You've never wanted to kill someone as much as you do now. Dave doesn't even fight back, so you lay into him twice more before you pull back and kick him to the floor.

Then you're straddling him, your blood pounding in your ears; your hands are around his throat and your claws are drawing blood, and it's only now that he raises his arms to pry you off. Either he's not trying very hard or he really is that weakened, or maybe you're just that determined, because he's hardly hindering you. You hold on until he's just a little blue in the face before you let go, and then you punch him again, in the jaw.

Unless you want to do him permanent damage- which, you remind yourself, was not the intended goal- you can't go any further than that. You bury your face in your palms and tangle your fingers in your hair and pull, as hard as you can. " _F-Fuck you_ ," You hiss emphatically, or maybe gasp, because you're breathing just as hard as he is.

Dave laughs wetly; there's a trickle of red at the corner of his mouth and you're not sure if it's from a split lip or something worse. "Yeah," He rasps, "Kill me too. Good solution."

There are so many things you want to say. That first of all, this whole clusterfuck was _their fault to begin with_ \- but you know, of course, that's not true, because you can't blame them anymore than you can blame Sollux for dragging you into the game. The second is that Dave couldn't have saved them either, no matter how hard he tried- and he did try, many times. That nothing any of them did had mattered, or would have mattered. The third is _you're wrong_ , they were your teammates and your friends and never your pawns, but you know that's a lie, too, and you hate yourself even more for even trying to deny it.

After all, you were the one to send Equius to his death, and by proxy, Nepeta as well. And you figured that Eridan, out of all of you, would have had a fighting chance with his newfound magic hope bullshit. He'd been confident, at least, but it turned out you were both wrong. You think Feferi was a particularly vengeful troll, but you were wrong about that, too. Sollux and Aradia made for a formidable team, but when the strain began to show in Aradia's mortal partner, it was her complacent sacrifice that spared his life. Tavros, the poor slob, never stood a chance.

When your numbers began to dwindle, it was you who panicked, and it was John who pulled the tattered remains of your group into some semblance of a team again.

Terezi was injured because _you_ froze up at a critical moment of battle, forcing Jade and Dave to pick up the slack for the both of you. And while you were frantically tending to Terezi, Kanaya stepped in cover for the two of you. She wasn't there to assist Rose when Gamzee's attacks fatally overwhelmed the Witch of Space and grievously injured the Knight of Time, leaving her the sole focus of his rage. By the time John was aware of what had happened, it was too late to help- it had all happened so quickly, and it was only by working in tandem with Vriska that he was able to hold Gamzee off long enough for Kanaya to aid Dave.

That must have been when he made his decision- even though to everyone else present, all hope had been lost. Maybe he didn't realize how many of his friends were dead, or maybe he just had hope that they could be revived. You don't know. You don't know what he was feeling, or thinking. What you do know is that the last you saw of him, as he was engulfed in that ethereal glow, right before he burst into white light and swirling gale, was that he was smiling. It wasn't a happy smile by far- in fact, it was the most grief-stricken expression you'd ever seen- but in it was that naive hope so characteristic of Egbert.

And as you braced yourself against the force of his element, as Vriska was thrown right out of the air and Kanaya was swept clear off her feet, you watched as the wind- John- closed in around Gamzee in a furious barrage, pulled him bit by bit into himself as the troll still laughed. And then he was gone- they both were, just like that.

The worst part of it all is replaying the scenario over and over again in your head, thinking of all the ways it could have gone differently; all the things you could have done to change the outcome, and knowing it all would have amounted to jack shit. It was only by John's hand that any of you survived. This small relief is not enough to assuage the guilt of knowing that if you'd only been a competent leader to begin with, the Bard of Rage would never have been awakened. You can't really think of anyone to blame but yourself anymore.

You don't say anything. Strider knows as well as you do that you haven't got an argument that holds water. You take a moment to really look at him, shades-free and exposed and vulnerable as you've ever seen him. He seems like he's waiting for something- maybe for more abuse. He's looking right at you, expressionlessly. It's not his usual coolkid routine, a put-on to infuriate you. Those eyes of his are dead.

You knew before you came here that Strider had given up. Seeing it for yourself is a different story. Your ire ebbs, and, revoltingly, you feel the stirrings of pity somewhere in your jaded consciousness.

You take a deep breath and steady your pulse into something more regular. You know what he's doing, because anger is an emotion you are intimately familiar with. It's kept you alive for six sweeps of your life and it never failed you back on Alternia. When blindsided with misfortune, it was safer to feel angry about it. It gave you a fighting chance. It made the world easier to deal with. No one fucked with you, no one took advantage of you. It kept you from falling apart.

You choose your words carefully.

"You're not the only one in this crapsack universe who wants to give up." You say lowly, when you've finally regained control of your voice, "John gave us another chance. It would be pretty fucking ungrateful of you to waste it."

You swallow hard and rise unsteadily to your feet. "When you're done being a smug, self-righteous asshole, make yourself useful and join the rest of us in the computer room." You don't wait for his reply. You turn and start walking.

This is just one of the many stupid, naive, crazy ways you are personally repaying John for his sacrifice. Going through with his improbable plan. Trusting Vriska. Keeping an eye on his bastard of a best friend.

You wish you didn't give a fuck about any of it. Before you played Sgrub, you probably wouldn't have. Before you shared your blood color with others of your kind without fear of repercussion. Before you created the humans. Before you met John. And now, you just can't stop doing it.

Caring is stupid.

-

Dave is in the computer the following day.

It's midday, or so you would guess. No one has any sense of time here. The other trolls are resting, but you, per usual, have stayed up into the early hours of the morning, trying and failing at being productive. Sollux headed off to his respiteblock about an hour ago, suggesting you do the same. He knows you don't listen- you never do. Sleep for you is sporadic and unintended; it comes in abrupt bursts of exhaustion and impromptu forty-minute naps over your keyboard. You dream less that way.

He still looks like shit, but at least he looks like relatively well-rested shit. In comparison to you, anyway. He's sitting at Terezi's terminal, some art program open on screen. The digital canvas is blank. He doesn't so much as turn his head as you step off the transportalizer, his arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed on the screen.

You stop, right in the middle of the room, debating whether you want to take up your preferred terminal beside him. In the end, you do, begrudgingly. What follows is the most awkward stretch of silence in the history of paradox space. The shades have made their return, you notice out of the corner of your eye, but he still refuses to look at you. He's sporting an ugly new bruise across his jaw; you surprisingly find no satisfaction in having been the one to put it there. The computer makes a serious of whirrs and clicks as it boots up, agonizingly slowly. It's nowhere near as efficient as the bio-technology on Alternia, but it's what's available, and at least it works. You tap your claws impatiently against your thigh as you wait, resolutely glaring at the start-up screen.

It's Dave who breaks the ice. It would have taken you another half-hour, at least, to swallow your pride and think up an appropriately disparaging greeting. He gives an exaggerated sigh. "Welp. Someone here has to be the big man and own up first. Might as well be me." He fidgets in his seat just a little and tries to pass it off as scooting his seat closer to the monitor, elbows braced against the counter, chin in palm.

You find yourself only vaguely irritated by his attitude. It's too forced. Much like the affected casualness of your posture as you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and the apathetic gaze you turn on him when he speaks. Neither of you are fooling anyone, but it's the principle of the thing. His expression is tight, and he's biting the inside of his lip. He hesitates just long enough for you to have to bite back something snide before you fuck this up, too. You keep your mouth shut until he's said his piece.

"I was a huge fucking tool the other day. ....Night. Whatever. I said shit that was uncalled for. Wholesale violation of the Queensbury Rules. ...Rule."

(You choose to ignore the incomprehensible metaphor and save your patented 'what the fuck are you talking about' scowl for a more appropriate time.)

He swallows before continuing. "Not the sort of legacy John was trying to inspire in the human race by going out in a great blaze of sacrificial glory. Which is just me, now, so I gotta make a good lasting impression on the rest of you troll creeps before I go. Kick some ass, take some names." He leans back again, raises his arms over his head and averts his eyes to the ceiling under the guise of stretching.

"Generations of troll wrigglies to come will be reared on tales of our exaggeratedly terrifying exploits, made into deterrants for misbehavior by troll-parents. 'You'd better be in bed by daybreak! That's when the humans come out!', they'll say. 'They flay the flesh from little troll bones and mount their victim's horns on plywood to hang over their mantlepiece!' And those little fuckers will get older and learn the truth they'll think, 'What a fucking terrifying race, humans. I sure am glad they're all-"

Strider's jaw gives a little spasm as his hands fall to his sides, clenching over his knees. "-Gone." He finishes, with just enough of a break between and just a little too roughly to not be noticed.

Dave knows as well as you do that even if you somehow make it out of this alive and miraculously find a habitable place to live, even with ectobiology tech, the chances of repopulation for your own kind is slim to none now. You've long grown accustomed to the idea of you and the others as being the last of your species. It is terribly ironic that the race of beings you created was doomed to extinction by the very beings that gave them life. You, at least, are not the very last of your kind. But Strider... Strider is alone, and it abruptly strikes you how very pitiable that is.

You can't imagine what that must feel like. Your stomach does a little flop just thinking about it, and the pity- ...no, not pity, John explained once- the compassion- comes to your mind unbidden. It's almost a physical sensation, a slight constricting in your chest, distracting you temporarily from your determinedly uncaring facade. Because it's sad. It's the saddest thing in the whole fucking universe. If it were you, you'd have wanted to die, too.

He finally turns back to you, flipping his shades down the bridge of his nose until the ruby-red irises of his eyes are pinning you to your seat. "Your turn." He says.

You scramble to reassume your trademark fury-filled, unaffected scowl, but your mouth curls into a stern frown instead. You can no more look him in the eye than he could you, so you return your attention to your computer monitor. After a long moment of careful thought, you respond in a reluctant grumble. "Punching you wasn't as gratifying as I thought it would be." And, after another moment, you continue lowly, "It was too fucking pitiful. I don't even think Eridan was ever that pathetic."

You swallow before you add, "... You didn't deserve it. Entirely." In a sort of half-comprehensible mumble. Which is as close to an apology as you will ever come. It doesn't seem to matter, because Dave is just quiet a moment and shrugs, accepting it- or not accepting it, whatever- for what it was. Maybe he's just too tired to care. Then the conversation stops, because neither of you really know where to go from there.

"John was my friend," You blurt abruptly before the silence can stretch between you again, and you regret it the instant it comes out, feeling your cheeks warm. But as much as you claimed otherwise, John _was_ your friend, and for some stupid reason you can't bear the idea of Dave continuing to think you didn't give two shits about him, or any of the other humans.

Dave tilts his head back. "... I know."

There is no describing the relief you feel at those two simple little words. "Good." You say, maybe a little shakily.

Silence. Before the conversation can stagnate further, the familiar _woosh_ of the transportalizer sounds from behind you, and the two of you stiffen. The last thing you need is a witness to this humiliating feelings parade. Evidently, you're not the only troll with insomnia on this rock. There is no mistaking the distinctive tap-step-tap-ing gait of one Terezi Pyrope.

Dave relaxes a fraction in his seat, but you've gone rigid as a plank. Her steps falter an instant- you doubt she came here looking for you, after all- before coming to a halt directly behind Strider. "So this is where you got off to, coolkid." She says as she rests one hand on the human's shoulder.

"'Sup, TZ? Thought you were off getting your snooze on?" He tilts his head back to look at her, doesn't complain when she plucks his shades right off his nose and jams them over her own.

"How could I, without your unhealthy jams to lull me to sleep?" Terezi grins as he reaches up to reclaim his glasses.

"Not that I can blame you, but that sounds like a serious dependency issue. I think I'm going to have to wean you off my sick beats." He says, sliding them back over the bridge of his nose.

"And if I refuse to cooperate?" She asks cheekily.

Dave shrugs. "Can't say I didn't try."

You are busy pretending you're not in the room when you feel her eyes on you. Or maybe 'nose' would be more appropriate. Regardless, those two sightless red orbs are aimed in your direction. If the atmosphere had been uncomfortable before, it's nothing compared to the oppressiveness of your matesprite's judgemental not-gaze.

"Say, Dave," Terezi's smile thins, "You wouldn't mind giving Karkat and I a moment alone?"

 _Karkat_. Not one of her pet names.

You are in _such_ deep shit.

Both of Dave's eyebrows rise above his shades, sensing the tension in the air. "He's all yours."

You would think that under that unaffected exterior he's the smuggest bastard in the world right now, but if he is, he isn't taunting you by letting you know. You can't bring yourself to feel particularly angry about it, either- you know you're not entirely undeserving of a good drubbing right now, and it's not like you didn't expect to have to deal with Terezi sooner or later.

He closes the open program on Terezi's computer and stands (stiffly, still favoring his right side). Terezi lets him, hands at her sides, though she keeps a cautious eye/nose on him. He pauses, casually leaning on the counter for support as he turns back to you. "So. Let me know when you next decide to call the cooperation-for-our-continued-survival committee to order." This earns him a curious brow-furrow from Terezi as he makes for the transportalizer.

"Yeah." You reply awkwardly, and allow him to abscond without another word.

Then it's just the two of you.

Terezi plops down into the seat Dave has just vacated and rests her hands over the top of her cane. Unexpectedly, her expression is more uncertain than disapproving; her eyes narrowed, lips curled into a slight frown. She doesn't say anything, just waits for you to crack under her unnerving red glare. And you inevitably do.

"I know I fucked up, all right?" You grumble, arms folded across your chest. You can't look her in the eye. "I know. I let him get to me and I completely flipped my shit."

Just another thing to add to your long list of failures. You almost wish she would just hit you. She looks at you now with infuriatingly detached austerity; like a legislacerator stares down the accused. You know damn well it's intentional, but that doesn't make it any less effective. You wither a little beneath those eyes, and suppress an embarrassing little shiver.

"Yeah," Terezi agrees flatly. "Beating on the suicidally depressed injured human kid was pretty dumb of you."

You flinch.

"You're lucky all he's got to show for it are a few nasty bruises." After a long moment, Terezi's gaze softens, her expression a little less severe as she leans back in her chair and rests her cane across her lap.

"But even if Dave hadn't told me he deserved it, I wouldn't have thought it hadn't been provoked, Karkat. I know you both too well." She sighs, scooting her chair a little closer to yours. She pulls her glasses off and rubs at her eyes with the heel of her palm. There are dark circles there even deeper than your own. Without all of those grins to hide it, the weariness shows plainly on her face. You're surprised when she leans over and rests her head on your shoulder, eyelids drooping.

"To be honest, I'm sort of glad you decided to talk to him. I don't.... I don't know what I would have done, if he'd just... stayed like that, for much longer." She closes her eyes. "I didn't think you would. I didn't think you cared."

You swallow. "About you running yourself ragged? I'd be a pretty shitty matesprite if I didn't."

She smiles wanly. "Yes, Karkat. We can pretend that is definitely all I meant by that."

You give a little groan and toss your head back, pressing your fingers against your eyes. "Look. We need a time player if we are actually going to _survive_ this harebrained scheme of John's. My team, my responsibility to get us all off this rock alive. It was an extension of my leaderly duties."

"Is that so?" Terezi sits up and shifts her chin to your shoulder, smile widening. "You are certain it was not also an extension of your friend-leader duties?"

"Through what bullshit, twisted logic have you managed to conclude that the relationship between Douchebag McAsshole Strider and I could be described as anything even remotely resembling friendship?" You gripe, though not all that vehemently.

Terezi does the pupil-less equivalent of an eye-roll and loops one arm around your waist. Tentatively, you return the gesture. "How could I forget! Karkat Vantas harbors only the blackest of contempt for Dave Strider! You're inordinately vocal about your hatred for him, actually. I'd go so far as to say your feelings seem to border on downright _calignous_."

"UGH. No." You growl, "Fuck no. God, why would you even put it like that- 'blackest of contempt'- like some fucking blackrom novel. My hatred for Dave Strider is purely platonic and you know it. In fact, it's more like a severely watered down hatred by now. Like really shitty iced tea. Like, he pisses me off a lot, but most of the time I don't even give a shit."

"So, sort of like what you have with Sollux." Terezi grins.

"Yeah, sort of like- NO, no, it is nothing at all like that."

You catch yourself a moment too late, and Terezi just cackles and leans up to flick her tongue over the flush on your cheeks. You groan again. "Think what you want; Strider and I are strictly business partners. Cooperation for our mutual benefit. That's it."

"I'll take your word for it, then." She shrugs and tugs you a little closer, pressing her face into your neck.

You sit for a while in quiet contentment, until she speaks up again, the lightheartedness from before gone from her tone.

"I need your help with him, Karkat." She says softly, "I can't do this alone."

It is a long moment before you answer her. Uncertainty wars briefly with devotion for your matesprite, dedication to your team. You don't know if you're prepared to fully devote yourself to dragging Dave Strider back from the brink of ruin. For all you know, the six of you are dead tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. You're not sure if it's worth the effort, to give him false hope.

But you're no longer certain whether you can truly abide by his suffering. There was once a time in your life where you would at least pretend you could- and wouldn't have thought twice about it. None of you would have. You might have even prolonged it. You'd all been perfectly normal trolls. Then they had come along and dulled your teeth and claws and horns, and none of you will ever be the same.

And, of course, there's John. You are indebted to him- all of you are, really- but especially you. He wouldn't have held you to any obligations, but you owe them to him anyway. Looking after Strider is one of them. Possibly the most important of them all. None of the others will do it- none had been as close to John as you had been.

You lean your head against Terezi's and nod slowly. "...Yeah. Ok." And you lapse into silence again.

It occurs to you that technically, this qualifies as 'friend-leader duties' after all.


End file.
